TfiB 


V 

jfaul   flanpilfoi)   Heryr) 


V, 


\ 


SS5" 


COPYRIGHT,    1885, 
BY   MUS.   H.    NEWELL    MARTIN. 


80G 


PREFACE, 


The  exquisite  verses  which  follow,  surely  among 
the  most  tender  and  beautiful  that  even  Paul  Hayne 
ever  wrote,  were   composed  for  tlie   occasion   of    this 
Bazaar,  and  given  by  their  author  to  the  Committee  of 
the  Maryland  Line   Table.     Copyright  in  them  is  at 
present  secured  in  the  name  of  the   Chairman  of  that 
Committee.     After  the  close  of   the   Bazaar  it   will 
be  transferred  to  the  proper  officer  of  the  Society  of  the 
Army  and  Navy  of  the  Confederate  States  in  the  State 
of  Maryland. 


The  Hrnksn  Hattalinns. 


The  sounds  of  the  tumult  have  ceased  to  rings 

And  the  Battle's  Sun  has  set, 
And  here  in  peace  of  the  new-born  Spring, 

We  would  fain  forgive  and  forget  ; 

Forget  the  rage  of  the  hostile  years, 
And  the  scars  of  a  wrong  unshriven, 

Forgive  the  torture  that  thrilled  to  tears 
The  Angels'  calm  in  Heaven. 

Forgive  and  forget?  yes  !  be  it  so, 

From  the  hills  to  the  broad  sea  waves  ; 

But  mournful  and  low  are  the  winds  that  blow 
By  the  slopes  of  a  thousand  graves  ; 


5 

We  may  scourge  from  the  Spirit  all  thought 
of  ill 

In  the  midnight  of  grief  held  fast, 
And  yet,  O  Brothers  !  be  loyal  still 

To  the  sacred  and  stainless  Past ! 

She  is  glancing  now  from  the  vapor  and 
cloud, 

From  the  waning  mansion  of  Mars, 
And  the  pride  of  her  beauty  is  wanly  bowed, 

And  her  eyes  are  misted  stars : 

And  she  speaks  in  a  voice  that  is  sad  as  death, 

:{  There  is  duty  still  to  be  done, 
Tho'  the  trumpet  of  onset  has  spent  its  breath, 

And  the  Battle  been  lost  and  won ;" 


/•I 


And  she  points  with  a  tremulous  hand  below, 

To  the  wasted  and  worn  array 
Of  the  heroes  who  strove  in  the  morning 
glow, 

Of  the  grandeur  that  crowned  "the  Gray  ;" 

O,  God !  they  come  not  as  once  they  came 

In  the  magical  years  of  yore ; 
For  the  trenchant  sword  and  the  soul 
of  flame, 

Shall  quiver  and  flash  no  more ; — 

Alas !  for  the  broken  and  battered  hosts ; 

Frail  wrecks  from  a  gory  sea, 
Tho'  pale  as  a  band  in  the  realm  of  ghosts, 

Salute  them  !  they  fought  with  Lee, 


And  gloried  when  dauntless  Stonewall  marched 

Like  a  giant  o'er  field  and  flood, 
When  the  Bow  of  his  splendid  victories  arched 

The  Tempest  whose  rain  is blood  ! 

Salute  them  !  those  wistful  and  sunken  eyes 

Flashed  lightnings  of  sacred  ire, 
When  the  laughing  blue  of  the  Southland  skies, 

Was  blasted  with  cloud  and  lire : — 

Salute  them  !  their  voices  so  taint  to-day, 

Were  once  the  thunder  of  strife. 
In  the  storm  of  the  hottest  and  wildest  fray, 

That  ever  has  mocked  at  life ! 


8 

Not  vanquished,  but  crushed  by  a  mystic  late, 
Blind  nations  against  them  hurled 

By  the  selfish  might  and  the  causeless  Hate 
Of  the  bandec    .ad  ruthless  World! 

Enough :  all  Fates  are  the  servants  of  God  ; 

And  follow  His  guiding  hand  ; — 
We  shall  rise  some  day  from  the  Chastener's 
rod, 

Shall  waken,  and  understand  ! 

But  hark,  to  the  Past  as  she  murmurs,  ''Come, 

There's  a  duty  still  to  be  done, 
Tho'  mute  is  the  drum,  and  the  bugle  dumb, 

And  the  Battle  is  lost  and  won !" 


